


Hush

by QuantumAbyss_mal (lonestarjdv)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: And They Still Kick Ass, Bad Dreams, Dad Jokes, Daily Routines, Established Relationship, Everyone Is Alive, Growing Old Together, Kids and Grandkids, Kissing, M/M, Old Married Couple, Old(er) People Sparring, naps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:53:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26498929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonestarjdv/pseuds/QuantumAbyss_mal
Summary: Prompt 61: Elderly sheith reflect on old days.Bonuses: cool grandpa keith and shiro who can still kick ass in their old age, terrible jokes, allura can still lift them both up with one handDecades after the war ends, old married couple Keith and Shiro have a not-so-typical Tuesday.
Relationships: Allura/Lance (Voltron), Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 34
Kudos: 63
Collections: Sheith Prompt Party 2020





	Hush

Shiro’s hand ran a familiar track across Keith's body, up and down his side, down his leg, a quick tickle across the back of his knee, and up again. Shiro had touched Keith this way countless times, and, while there could have been heat to it, the touch was mostly centering and grounding. Shiro looked at Keith’s face, evaluating his microexpressions. He’d woken to the familiar shudders that meant Keith had had a bad dream. 

Shiro’s wide palm came to rest between Keith’s shoulder blades, a warm, comforting weight, pulling him closer. He waited for Keith to speak, to share his waking thoughts, same as he’d done so many mornings since they first started sleeping next to one another decades ago. 

“I dreamed about Naxzela again,” he finally started softly. “The one where Lotor doesn’t come.” Keith blinked away morning tears, a mix of emotion over the dream and the physical response to light and air after sleep. “Our whole life together flashed in front of my eyes. And some things that haven’t even happened yet. There was a baby I didn’t recognize.” Shiro thought about their adult sons. It had been years since there had been a baby in the house.

“And then, you know that feeling when you die in your dreams. Like you’re falling, and then you wake up before you touch the bottom. I thought I was going to touch the bottom. I almost felt it with my toes. I wasn’t ready. I’m not ready.” 

Keith was crying in earnest now, the tears making a wet spot on the pillow under his cheek. Shiro pulled him in and wrapped him in his arms, tucking his head under his chin and making long shushing noises. It had been years since Keith had had any dreams this bad. When they had been almost nightly occurrences, Shiro had learned that the only thing for it was to surround Keith with his presence. And love. Until the little shudders subsided and he looked up at Shiro with a weak, watery smile. Shiro pressed Keith’s head to his chest, just above his heartbeat and ssssshhhhhhed, the same way he had with their boys when they had awakened with nightmares. The same way Keith did for him, when the past snuck up on him in the night. “I’m here. We’re here. We made it through to fight another day. A lot of other days.” Shiro blinked away his own tears.

Keith looked apologetic when he finally extracted himself from beneath Shiro’s chin. “I got your shirt all wet,” he said, fingers gently tracing the wet spot in the center of Shiro’s chest. 

“Worth it. I love you.” 

Keith sighed deeply and the last of the tension in his shoulders released, soothed by the ritual of these words in the morning. “I love you, too.” 

Keith curled back into Shiro’s outstretched arms and they lay there, counting breaths until morning routines could no longer be ignored. Shiro got up first to use the bathroom and Keith followed shortly after. 

“I get the feeling this is gonna be a nostalgic kind of day,” Keith said as he spit his toothpaste into the sink. 

“Oh, yeah?” Shiro shook a handful of pills out of his pill sorter as he stood at his own sink. Pidge had made him something fancy, but he kept coming back to the cheap plastic case that he had found among his grandfather’s old things. He said he liked the way the lids snapped in place. Something about the sound, the feel. There was a pill for joints and one for memory. Another for prostate health and something for inflammation. There were little blue pills on Wednesdays and Fridays that Shiro dug out on out-of-sequence days depending on the mood. Today was Tuesday. Once he had downed his, he shook a handful out of a similar container and offered it to Keith with a glass of water, which Keith accepted and swallowed. “What’s your schedule look like?”

Keith pulled a comb through his hair as he considered. “I have an 8 o’clock then a 10:30 in the training room this morning.” He pulled loose hairs out of the teeth of the comb, noting considerably more silver than black. “You?”

“I need to touch base with the Holts about a project we’ve been working on around 7:30 and then just a lot of paperwork. Remember Allura is coming over this afternoon.”

Keith hummed in acknowledgment as he stepped forward to comb Shiro’s ever-more-unruly eyebrows. Shiro closed his eyes and smiled at his husband’s gentle ministrations. 

“You’re sure you’re not the one who’s part galra?” Keith smiled. “These eyebrows are getting out of control.” 

Shiro chuckled at the familiar joke, and caught Keith’s wrist, pulling his hand in so that he could kiss his palm. 

Keith took one last swipe with the comb and then gave a curt nod of satisfaction, taking an extra moment to look into Shiro’s eyes. The moment stretched to two, then three, and tears started collecting in the corners of Keith’s eyes. 

Shiro pulled him in again. “Damn nostalgia,” he whispered against the crown of his head.

sKs

When Keith padded silently into the kitchen 15 minutes later, dry-eyed and tugging his tunic and lap belt into place over his leggings, he was greeted by the familiar smells of breakfast. Food goo a distant memory, there were fresh summer berries and egg souffle-things with cheese that Shiro had figured out how to make after their youngest had left the house. Keith’s coffee mug sat next to Shiro’s tea on the counter. Shiro’s back, in his black silk kimono robe, contrasted with the steam that curled lazily off the surfaces of their drinks, twining in the air before dissipating. Over Shiro’s shoulder, Keith could see Matt Holt gesticulating in the vid phone as Shiro nodded and hummed in agreement. Shiro reached back for his tea and smiled when he saw Keith in the doorway. He held out an arm in invitation and curled Keith in as he took a sip. Keith raised his hand briefly in greeting and Matt dipped his head in acknowledgement as he continued whatever he and Shiro were discussing. 

Keith picked up his coffee cup and then took advantage of his proximity to evaluate what Shiro had chosen to wear that day. He said a silent prayer of thanks that the days of nylon tactical pants were over. The biggest selling point of those pants, outside the ability to purchase 3 pairs for 30 GAC, was that they could be cleaned with paint thinner and didn’t burn. Keith knew. He had tried. 

The pockets had been handy though. Shiro had gotten them out of more than one bind with the supplies he had kept squirreled away in those pockets. Storage aside, he much preferred the loose fitting pants and robe that Shiro now wore over a white undershirt most days, broad sash highlighting his trim waist. 

His eyes drifted down the finished edge of the robe until they arrived at Shiro’s feet, bare like Keith’s against the kitchen tile, his toe occasionally tapping on the floor when Matt made a salient point. 

They sipped and listened in companionable silence, Shiro responding when required, and then said their goodbyes to Matt and his family when the call concluded. With the vid screen dark, Shiro turned to Keith and kissed him on the forehead. Still irresistible. There was just so much real estate there for kissing, although it was creased now with worry lines that Lance offered to “fix” every time they saw him. 

“I think we may have just averted an inter-galactic incident in a 15 minute phone conversation before breakfast,” Shiro mused into Keith’s hair. 

Keith snorted. 

“You remember when we first met the Arusians? You were going to fight them! The Arusians!” Shiro finished incredulously with a little chuckle. 

“God, it makes me tired just thinking about it. To have that kind of energy again. That you just think you can endlessly fight your way through everything,” Keith shook his head against Shiro’s chest and thought about how many conflicts they had managed to avert since the end of the war with a conversation or a box of chocolate.

Shiros prosthesis flexed though at the word fight. 

Keith put his coffee down and reached for the prosthetic, kneading his fingertips into the palm. It had never malfunctioned, but there were lots of parts of their bodies that had been reliable that were slowly starting to betray them. “Feeling restless old timer?” 

“Maybe?” Shiro said, squeezing Keith’s fingers. “Do you have an opening after your 10:30?”

“Might if you’re lucky. Swing by if you’re free and I’ll see what I can do.” Keith took another sip of his coffee.

Shiro squeezed Keith’s hip.

“Mmm, frisky, I like it.” Keith smiled as he turned his chin up to accept a light sweep of Shiro’s lips. He glanced at the time, and gave Shiro another peck. “But I’ve got a meeting in 5. Better save that energy.”

“I’ll see you at 11:30?”

“It’s a date.” Keith blew his husband a kiss as he left the kitchen for his first appointment of the day. 

sKs

The training room was one of the best customizations they had made to the house. It had briefly been a playroom when the boys were young, but had transitioned back to training when they were school age. They had used it as a Marmoran martial arts studio, with straight lines of trainees studying the ancient arts of stealth and bladework as their boys grew, and Keith still occasionally took on a student or two if they were recommended by the local foster support foundation. 

He was wrapping up one of these private lessons, his 10:30, as Shiro walked in and leaned against the doorframe. Watching Keith at work would never get old. Shiro forgot sometimes that they were nearly into their 60’s. When he looked at Keith, he still saw him as he was in his 20’s. He had to really focus, really look, to see the change in texture and terrain of his face. His shoulders were still strong, square and proud, but Shiro knew he worked twice as hard to maintain his strength and flexibility. He still moved gracefully, nervous tics and shuffles lost to decades of experience and the confidence that accompanied it. Shiro liked to think that they were still themselves, only more efficient. 

He snapped out of his reverie to catch Keith’s student trying to sneak up on him. Kid must be new, he thought, shaking his head. Keith was facing away from the preteen boy, buckling his belt around his waist again, recapping the lesson.

Shiro was wondering if Keith already knew the kid was stalking him when Keith looked up at Shiro’s reflection in the panoramic window. Shiro could see the corner of Keith’s mouth turned up in a knowing smile as he met his eyes. Oh, this kid was in for it. Shiro leaned more heavily into the doorframe to enjoy the show. 

The boy, who couldn’t have been more than 13, was almost on top of Keith—Shiro imagined he could hear him breathing—when Keith dropped, mid-sentence about practice and technique, and swept under him with his leg. It was unexpected and the kid was unbalanced. He fell on his back with a whuff as the air rushed out of his lungs and followed it up with a groan. Keith spent a minute evaluating if his student was going to come at him with anything more. When it was quite clear he wasn’t—this was only the first lesson after all—he knelt down beside him with only a single muted crunch from his knees. Shiro recognized the knee crunches distinctly from the wrist and shoulder and ankle ones. 

Keith offered a hand up. When the boy was standing again, looking thoroughly humbled, Keith put a reassuring hand on his shoulder while he, no doubt, imparted some life-altering mantra. 

“Remember,” Keith called after the boy as he nodded to the guardian who had arrived for pick-up, “Patience yields focus.” 

The boy raised a hand in acknowledgment without turning as he walked past Shiro through the door. 

“He rolled his eyes didn’t he?”

“He did.”

Keith shook his head. “Kids these days, Shiro. I  _ never _ .”

“Well we know why that is,” Shiro responded with a wink as he removed his shoes and socks. He folded his glasses and set them on the shelf beside the door. 

“Oh really?” Keith put his hands on his hips. “And why is that, oh great and wise Admiral Shirogane? Enlighten me.” 

Shiro blushed as he removed his sash and pulled the robe off his shoulders to hang on a hook. “Let’s just say, I’m glad that kid’s not trying to get in your pants.” 

“Ohohoho. Are you saying I only listened to you because I was trying to get into your pants?”

Shiro just gave Keith a look through his eyelashes as he stood. 

“Them’s fightin’ words, Admiral.” 

“Good,” Shiro raised his eyebrows, his prosthesis flexing again. “‘Cause I came here to fight.”

As soon as Shiro was on his feet, Keith was ready. They knew each other too well to stand on ceremony. They didn’t have the same musculature or power as they did during the war or even just after, but they were active and their bodies were still responsive, if a little noisy. 

They circled and tested, reminding one another of recent hurts and weaknesses. Keith had rolled an ankle taking out the trash in the dark a couple weeks previously. Shiro had briefly dislocated his shoulder with an awkward reach to the back seat of the car. Silly things on top of wounds that lingered from battles long since won. They laughed sometimes that they had survived an intergalactic war only to eventually be killed by a rogue black bean in their burrito or a fall down the basement stairs. Shiro’s macabre humor had grown on Keith, but their boys didn’t find the jokes particularly funny. Sweet summer children. Untouched by conflict.

After a number of fruitless passes that resulted in Keith standing, Shiro on his knees, Keith aimed a knee at Shiro's arm port and surged forward. Shiro leaned awkwardly to the side and narrowly avoided the hit, his back protesting at the odd angle. He reached up with both arms as Keith passed and wrapped them around his waist, using Keith's momentum to pull himself around while simultaneously dragging Keith to the floor. Fight smarter not harder, Shiro had started saying. 

Keith caught himself mid fall to keep himself from getting pinned. He was able to half turn before Shiro moved his weight farther up his torso and pushed into Keith's hip to keep him from turning the rest of the way. Shiro reached up to block Keith's arm from wrapping around his neck as Keith tried to tip his weight so he could fight from his back. They both paused to take a couple breaths in their stalemate, then Shiro found an opening and reached around to pin Keith's right arm and push his shoulders into the ground. 

Keith was blanketed by Shiro's body. His arms were held tight by Shiro's forearms, Shiro's knees bracketing his thighs, their bodies pressed together from shoulders to hips. 

"Yield?" 

Keith squirmed a minute, testing, then nodded, let out a breath, and relaxed under Shiro. "Can we just stay here a minute?" 

"Yeah, of course." Shiro released Keith's arms and legs but stayed where he was settled against his back. He heard a little pop as his weight flattened Keith into the floor, whether his or Keith’s, he couldn’t guess. Keith took a deep breath that raised Shiro along with it, and then chuckled on the exhale. Shiro smiled and leaned to kiss Keith on the cheek. 

"I think this might be my safe place," Keith said.

Shiro laughed and Keith felt it through his whole body. "Crushed under a sweaty, elderly 230 lb man?"

"Crushed under MY sweaty, elderly 230 lb man." Keith reached his left hand up to Shiro's, linking their fingers and lining up their wedding bands. They had been so shiny when they'd first put them on one another's fingers. Now they were dull and scratched with years of continuous wear. They had considered polishing them once, but had resolved that they liked them as they were, shaped by the passage of years—like them. 

Shiro wiggled over him, ostensibly to make the crushing complete. They laid that way for a couple minutes, listening to the birds outside and each others' breathing. Shiro thought they might fall asleep there. A nap sounded nice. 

"Ok, I think that's enough," Keith finally said, a little breathless. Shiro rolled off and heard, as though from a distance, his own involuntary groan of effort. He lay on his back beside Keith for a minute and then pulled Keith to lay over him, his head resting on Shiro’s chest.

"It's a good thing we don't have to rely on stealth anymore," Keith remarked idly. "Can you imagine? Trying to sneak up on someone and then your ankle clicks? Or like, you stand up from the floor and audibly groan. Like, ‘Sorry guys. Guess I forgot to take my supplements.' I guess that’s why there aren't a lot of ninjas over the age of 30."

"Maybe one reason," Shiro responded.

"I'm so glad we don't have to fight for our lives anymore."

"Me, too." 

Shiro's tummy growled. 

"Lunchtime, big guy?"

"Yeah? You don't want to stay here a little while longer?"

"Nah, I'm good. This was nice though. Thank you." Keith kissed Shiro on the chin, then stood in one fluid motion, stretching his back at the end. 

"I thought we did this for me? Shouldn't I be thanking you?" Shiro asked as he took Keith's offered hand and rose a little less gracefully from the mats. Keith tipped up on his toes and gave Shiro another quick kiss. 

"Funny how that works," he said as he walked from the room, tapping Shiro's ass lightly on his way out. 

sKs

They ate a simple lunch together on the back patio. They had noticed that their diet included more greens with a wider variety of protein that it had during the years they were raising kids. They had experienced something of a food renaissance when they started living alone again, even though Keith still sometimes caught Shiro eating a frozen waffle directly out of the box and Shiro caught Keith eating ice cream for dinner more than a couple times. Food--everything really--affected them differently as they got older. Things that younger bodies had taken in stride, their seasoned bodies took longer to process. They took less of everything. Less food, less sleep, less damage. 

The good news was that time had tempered hot-blooded reliance on brute force, direct paths, and quantity in favor of subtle pressure, patience, and quality. Sometimes the longer path  _ was  _ the more direct path, both Keith and Shiro now knew. 

They sat next to a fountain in their garden that they had installed before their boys were born, just after they married and moved to the house—a piece of stone with a source of water that dripped once every hour. The water had flowed every which way for well over a year until it had found a path. Once the path was established the water followed the path. There was a deep channel that ran through the stone now for the water to follow that grew deeper with each passing year. Sometimes Keith thought about other realities where the water had chosen a different path or there was no fountain at all. 

After lunch, Shiro convinced Keith to take a nap and they spent a pleasant hour dozing in the filtered early afternoon sun of their bedroom.

Keith looked up at Shiro, whose eyes were still closed. “Feeling better?” 

Shiro opened his eyes and looked down at where Keith was nestled against him. “Yes? And no?” He stroked at Keith’s hair contemplatively. “I dunno. You?”

“Same,” Keith replied. “Not as bad as this morning.” He shrugged. “The baby texted. He wants to talk later tonight and wanted to be sure we could both be on the call. Maybe he got that job on new Altea.”

Shiro hummed. Their youngest had been working in the galactic outskirts since he had finished school and Shiro and Keith both hoped he and his partner would move closer when they could. Even a single wormhole away would be an improvement. 

“Allura called to confirm this afternoon, too. Think you can still join us?”

“Yeah, I’d love to see Allura.” 

“She’s bringing Melly.” 

Keith sat up and looked down at Shiro. “Oh. god, Shiro, I dunno. Allura’s grandkid is a menace. My left eyebrow just grew all the way back in again.” Keith said, hand rising involuntarily above his eye. 

“Well this isn’t a barbeque; so we should be fine. No open flames.”

“A menace, Shiro,” Keith repeated, although he was smiling. 

“Takes one to know one,” Shiro said, ruffling Keith’s hair as he huffed and reached to straighten it again. 

sKs

Keith sat on the floor surrounded by toys from the toy basket they always pulled out for visiting kids and watched Shiro and Allura talk. Melly had crawled into Shiro’s lap. He continued his conversation with Allura and simultaneously entertained the baby with his prosthetic arm as she wiggled and shifted.

Shiro was always so good with kids. He had a nice long fuse, which had come in handy with theirs. Keith couldn’t believe that their boys were already grown and gone. It seemed like not that long ago that these toys were spread out on the floor for them. Keith picked up an action figure that had briefly been a constant feature of their lives, requiring daily bedtime searches and at least one return trip to the house for retrieval amidst tears and heart-rending screams, now discarded in a dusty basket that lived in a closet under the stairs, galaxies and galaxies away. Hadn’t that just been yesterday? 

“I said don’t call me granny! Abuela is fine, but I refuse to be granny,” Keith heard Allura say distantly as he returned to their living room from his musings. Melly had crawled from Shiro’s lap to Allura’s and was busy with chubby handfuls of Allura’s hair. Allura winced. 

“Reduced to tears by a child’s hair pulling. What happened to the tough Princess of Altea who once threw me across a room,” Shiro chided. 

“The sensitivity of my head has nothing to do with my strength, and this child is rough,” Allura started. Keith nodded in agreement from the floor. “I could still throw you across a room, I just would rather not hurt anyone of advanced age.” 

“Princess you're the oldest out of all of us.” 

“Yes, but Alteans are meant to live for millenia. Humans not so much. You're so…” she waved her hand and looked at Keith and Shiro appraisingly “...fragile." 

There weren't many things that could get Keith fired up anymore, but calling Shiro fragile was definitely one of them. He stood from where he was seated on the floor with the help of an adjacent chair, and despite having already fought more that day than he normally did in a week, he motioned Allura toward the training room with a raised eyebrow. 

When they reached the end of the hall, Allura cried “Oh! I have an idea. I'll hold the baby. That'll be like a, what is it you call it again, a disadvantage?” 

She had gotten a lot better at hand-to-hand, learning to leverage the unexpected quality of her strength to turn the tables. Even without the element of surprise, she was capable enough to be standing on one side of the room, Keith and Shiro on their asses on the other after a matter of minutes, grandbaby in hand, regarding the fingernails on the other hand like maybe she'd reconsidered the color. 

"Perhaps discuss some sort of strategy amongst yourselves." she advised, wiggling her fingers in their direction as she looked down her nose at them. The act was convincing but she couldn't hold it long, dissolving into laughter that echoed in the room like tinkling bells. 

A knock came from the entrance to the room and Lance, in chinos and a blue cashmere sweater that Shiro and Keith speculated might actually have been custom made to match his eyes, was rapping his knuckles against the door frame. “Hate to interrupt whatever this is,” Lance said, moving over to Allura and plucking his granddaughter out of her arms, “but it’s time for dinner.”

“You just don’t want to get your hands dirty,” Keith called from the ground. 

"I'm like a Monet," Lance said, touching at his hair, which was more gray with blonde streaks than blonde with gray streaks. Forty years earlier he would have been dead serious, but four kids and three grandkids later, his tone indicated he was poking fun at himself. 

Keith was happy to play along, falling into his role as irascible emoboy, a pantomime of a time long gone. "We know, ‘sharpshooter.’ Better from a distance." He looked at Shiro and rolled his eyes exaggeratedly. "You didn't say Lance was coming." He stood and walked a little stiffly across the room to embrace his friend.

"My meeting finished early," Lance answered from over Keith's shoulder as they hugged, "and Allura wasn't answering her phone; so I figured I'd come check out what you guys were doing." They pulled back and Lance looked down at Melly. "Clearly setting a good example for my grandkid here." 

"It was Allura's idea," Shiro and Keith said in unison. 

"The best ideas usually are," Allura responded, unruffled.

sKs 

Lance and Allura stayed for dinner and they sat outside again. Melly splashed in the fountain, water cascading in rivulets all over the rock before settling back into its channel. When it started to get too chilly to sit outside any longer, they hugged their friends and said their goodnights. Lance carried Melly, her head tucked in the crook between his neck and shoulder, eyes drooping. 

“Let me know if you want to fix those lines on your forehead, Keith! I know a guy!” Lance called over his shoulder as they left. 

“Thanks Lance, but I like for my face to move when I smile!” Keith responded, shaking his head. 

Keith and Shiro went back inside, cleaned up, and settled on the couch to talk to their youngest. 

It took a few minutes to establish the connection and they fussed a little over the technology. They were both relieved when their son’s smiling face appeared on the screen. 

“Dad! Oto-san!” 

Keith and Shiro beamed back. He looked healthy. Happy. Even if he was far away. He held up a piece of paper with a grainy black and white image and they both leaned in, squinting to make out what it was. In the middle of a black void was what appeared to be a kidney bean.

“You’re going to be grandpas!”

Two pairs of eyes flew open in surprise. “Grandpas?” Keith tried out the word as he looked from the image to his son to Shiro and back again.

“Congratulations! Wow! Grandpas! Wow!” Shiro responded once some of the shock had worn off. 

Their son laughed. “It’s a little unexpected, but we’re happy and excited. We can’t wait for you to meet the newest member of the family.” 

“We can’t wait to meet them either!”

They discussed details and logistics, and then it was time for their boy to go. The calls never seemed long enough and they missed him as soon as the screen went dark. 

They sat a moment in silence and then Keith turned to Shiro. 

“When did you get so old, Grandpa?” 

“Probably the same time you did, Grandpa.”

“Grandpa,” Keith said one more time. 

As he brushed his teeth before bed, Keith imagined Shiro holding a baby again. Cooing and singing, his rich baritone drifting down the hallway. Their grandchild. In a house where they’d raised their children. In a free and peaceful universe. 

He looked at Shiro, already tucked into bed, illuminated by the lamp on his bedside table, reading glasses perched at the end of his nose as he finished up emails. Shiro looked up at where Keith was standing in the bathroom doorway, toothbrush still at the corner of his mouth, and gave him a little smile. He smiled back.

That night, there were only good dreams. 

**Author's Note:**

> I love "elderly" sheith and could not decide which direction I wanted to go with this prompt. So I did what any reasonable person would do and wrote both.
> 
> Here's the other: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26499160


End file.
